


Your Father's a Thief

by FoxNonny



Series: Child, the Darkness Will Rise [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, goes into Here Lies the Abyss, if that helps, in my run my choices were Hawke or Stroud though, no spoilers but sorry Stroud, spoilers for inquisition, this will probably gain more tags as it goes along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:17:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has left Fenris behind to aid the Inquisition. Solas is far more interested in Hawke's abandoned companion than the Champion himself. Things become complicated when Hawke and Fenris reunite, and Solas may be forced to provide some long-overdue explanations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AO3 ate this last time I tried to post it so let's pray that doesn't happen again. This is one of those fics where I'm kind of playing it by ear with only a vague idea of where things are going - like I know everything essentially right up to a certain point where I'll have to decide how deep down the rabbit-hole of this headcanon I want to go, whether I'm gonna keep it subtle and relatively canon-compliant or nah. 
> 
> If you haven't read the other two works in this series, I'd suggest doing so before diving into this one. They're short, and I killed Danarius again, kind of twice, if that helps. Otherwise, if you really don't want to, all you need to know is this: Solas and Fenris are related and nothing can convince me otherwise. 
> 
> (Also, the short fic not listed in this series, Crimson, technically ties into this canon as well. You'll Remember Me does not. Am I shamelessly plugging my own fic? Yes, yes I am.)
> 
> Title of fic and series comes from the song Mordred's Lullaby. I'm gonna run out of lines to use as fic titles eventually but today is not that day.

Solas looks up from his work on the murals as the door to his study is thrown open, newly-appointed Inquisitor Lavellan shaking his head and muttering to himself as he stalks through. 

"Bad day?" Solas says lightly.

Lavellan stops short, looking at Solas with a distinctly harassed expression. 

"Not quite," he answers, a hand to his unruly hair. "I just... is it _so much_ to ask that my advisors not try to kill each other? For one day? I would appreciate just _one day_ free of attempted murder."

"Did Sera replace Cullen's hair soap with pink dye again?" Solas asks.

That cracks a smile out of Lavellan. Solas has found the elf's sense of humour to be his easiest point of access. "No, to the dismay of all, I'm certain. I've just had the pleasure of stopping Cassandra from throttling Varric. Actual throttling. By the Dread Wolf, Solas, I thought she was joking when she threatened to murder him for lying about the Champion's whereabouts."

At this, Solas puts his paints down slowly, fighting to keep a neutral expression. "Champion of Kirkwall? He's been found, then?"

""Found" wouldn't quite be the word for it, as he was never lost to begin with," Lavellan says wearily. "But yes, he's very much "found." In fact, he's on the battlements as we speak."

" _Our_  battlements?"

"The very same."

Solas resists the urge to prod deeper into the connection anchoring himself to the elf Fenris. _His blood._  There's been a distinct tugging down the thread for weeks now, but as Solas has been busy cleaning up after yet another disastrous mistake, he's hardly had time to investigate the matter. "You spoke to him?"

"I did. Not as much as I would have liked; I thought it best to speak to Leliana as soon as possible. I would like to send some scouts ahead to Crestwood before attempting travel there myself, as we've been getting some... strange reports from that region. And it was on my way to Leliana that I encountered Cassandra and Varric. Still, the Champion is a remarkable man. He'll be leaving in the morrow, I'm told."

Solas examines his hands carefully, rubbing away a speck of errant paint from his thumb. "And what of his companion? I've heard an elf from Tevinter travels with him."

Lavellan nods. "I've heard the same. Fenris, I believe he's called. Dorian's told me that the slave trade in Tevinter's been experiencing somewhat of a scourge, thanks to him. I would have liked to shake the man's hand myself, maybe offer some Inquisition resources on the sly. I don't believe he's here, however."

_Which would explain why the connection still feels so faint,_ Solas thinks, dropping his hands. It's an odd mingling of relief and disappointment that fills his chest, then. Relief that Fenris is far from the chaos and sickness of Ferelden, and disappointment...

Well, disappointment that Solas has yet to meet the child, in person. 

"Do you think Hawke would mind if I spoke with him?" Solas asks. "I imagine he values his privacy as much as any hero, but I do have my questions regarding his companion. Lyrium warriors are not, after all, something one encounters on the daily."

Lavellan bites his lip, clearly torn. It's moments such as this that Solas is struck by how young their Inquisitor is, younger than most of his companions and advisors. He hides his youth and uncertainty well, for the most part, but Solas has seen the mask of authority slip before. 

"I don't believe it would do any harm," Lavellan says eventually, squaring his shoulders, the Inquisitor once more. "I would advise caution, if anything. According to Varric, Hawke can be quite... protective." 

Solas inclines his head. "I will employ the utmost tact, of course. Thank you, Inquisitor."

"No one calls me Mahanon anymore," Lavellan says, shaking his head a little. "I'm starting to forget my own name. If you'll excuse me, Solas, I've got to speak to Leliana about..."

He blinks, and Solas gently supplies, "Crestwood?"

"Precisely. Thank you."

In a few quick steps, the Inquisitor is through the doorway and taking the stairs up to the library two at a time, by the sounds of it. Solas can't help but smile a little. _How very strange, the fortune of this world. How very strange indeed._

-

"So I take it you managed to escape the wrath of the Seeker, or-?"

Hawke turns around and is clearly surprised to see Solas walking down the steps of the battlements towards him, his friendly smile quickly turning to something far more guarded, forcibly polite. "Sorry, thought you were someone else."

"Varric, I imagine," Solas says pleasantly. "Rest assured, Inquisitor Lavellan saved your friend's neck, though apparently it was a near thing."

Hawke leans against the stone wall with a short sigh. "He's a good friend. I owe him everything, honestly. I hope the Inquisitor himself isn't angry with Varric; he seemed like such a nice fellow."

"He's more concerned about the rift this has created in his inner circle, but even that, I'm sure, will resolve itself in time," Solas says. "You're Garrett Hawke, then? Champion of Kirkwall?"

Hawke grimaces. "Whatever's left of it, and for all I'm her "Champion," I'm not exactly welcome within her walls at present." He considers Solas a moment, and frowns. "I don't believe I know you, but you seem... familiar to me. Have we met before?"

_Once, in a dream, and I was not in this shape then. And you were so very, very afraid of me, Champion._

"I do not believe so, though I have been travelling Ferelden a while, and I've heard your home was here before the Blight," Solas says instead. "I am Solas."

The frown deepens, but Hawke moves to shake Solas's hand regardless. "You don't seem the type to have read Varric's book, so I take it you're not here for an autograph."

"Not quite," Solas says. "Actually, I had a few questions about your companion. Frankly, I'm fascinated by the supposed abilities his markings grant him."

Hawke's face hardens, though he retains the facade of friendliness well enough for a man not born to such a practice. "You mean Fenris."

Solas smiles. "The man who's currently giving the slave traders of Tevinter nightmares that only begin to match the horrors they've visited upon their prey. Yes, both the Inquisitor and myself are... fans, would likely be the word. For obvious reasons."

Hawke relaxes a little at that, smiling genuinely. "He's... very impressive. Not much for conversation with strangers though, unless there's wine involved, I'll warn you now."

"Did he travel with you, then?" Solas asks. Perhaps Fenris is only a few days behind, or the anchor is faint for other reasons...

Hawke's eyes slip to the ground, his expression falling, and Solas has his answer.

"Varric warned me in his letter about the growing abundance of red lyrium down here," Hawke says quietly. "More than that... I know Fenris would die to protect me, as I would him. I didn't want to give him the chance."

_Good,_  Solas thinks fiercely, glad that Hawke has come to realize how dangerous he is. Aloud, he says, "That must have been difficult. He doesn't seem the type to stay behind."

"He isn't," Hawke says. "And he wouldn't. I had to..."

Hawke looks away, guarded once more.

"Forgive me," he says stiffly. "It's hard to speak of it."

"Apologies," Solas says, with a nod. "But I take it you plan to return to him, when all is said and done?"

"Maker, yes, if he'll have me back," Hawke says. "One way or another, all I'm certain of is that he will track me down eventually, if only for the chance to break my nose and shout at me while doing so."

"You almost sound as if you're looking forward to it," says Solas.

Hawke smiles again. "Wouldn't you know it, I am."

-

Hawke does not die in the Fade.

Solas watches as the Inquisitor, Hawke, Stroud, Blackwall, Varric, and the Iron Bull all tumble from the broken ramparts into a rift, and he watches as the Inquisitor, Hawke, Blackwall, Varric, and the Iron Bull come tumbling back out again, Lavellan's dark skin ashy and his grey eyes wide and haunted as he seals the rift behind him. 

"What happened, exactly?" Solas asks the Qunari, who watches Lavellan make his way through the cheering crowd with a keen eye and a deep frown.

"We got caught up by some kind of... demon," the Iron Bull says with an obvious shudder. "Big fucker. Hawke's warden friend stayed behind to keep it from eating the rest of us. Boss is a little torn up about it - both Hawke and Stroud volunteered to stay, and he had to pick which one."

"And he chose Stroud," Solas says, folding his arms. 

"It was going to be shitty either way," the Bull says with a shrug. "Honestly, I probably would have picked the same. Hawke means a lot to a lot of different people, inside the Inquisition and out. I know Varric would have probably launched himself back into the rift if he heard Hawke was left behind. And anyway, doesn't Hawke have some elf lover to be getting back to?"

"Yes," Solas says, his expression shuttered. "He does."

He watches Hawke disappear into the crowd on Lavellan's heels, far better than their Inquisitor at schooling his expression to conceal the grief and horror of whatever they'd encountered in the Fade to offer smiles to the soldiers celebrating around him. 

And Solas thinks of what Hawke said, weeks ago now. " _He would die to protect me... all I'm certain of is that he will track me down eventually..._ "

Nowhere in Thedas is safe, now, Solas knows this. He also knows that Fenris will be far safer with someone watching over him, than alone. 

Whether that someone should be Garrett Hawke, however, remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so jazzed to write Mahanon into this btw, I love him and I accidentally made him an adorable elf bb who just wants a nap during my playthrough. Also, romanced Bull first time around, am romancing Dorian on my second run, so in written canon they're just kind of in an adorable polyamorous heap that probably makes Solas want to cry a little (and makes Josephine very, very curious). Not tagged because they don't really factor into the story much, eh.
> 
> It would have been hilarious to see how a Solavellan pairing interacted with this headcanon though, and if I knew more about femme!Lavellan and her romance with Solas I might have been tempted to throw that in, if just for Fenris's eventual "DAD OH MY GOD WTF" etc.
> 
> (I still haven't decided if Solas is Fenris's dad, grandfather, or long-ago ancestor, btw. Solas has essentially just kind of "well this is my kid now" either way so I might leave that enigmatic for the time being. If anyone has strong opinions in this matter as to how direct the relation should be, lemme know!)
> 
> If you have any prompts or suggestions for fic in this 'verse, lemme know here or on my tumblr at foxnonny.tumblr.com because there is not enough Fenris - Solas interaction in the world and during the course of this series so far people have left some amazing comments with theories to back up this headcanon and I love it. I love you all and thrive off your positivity. Thank you for reading and the next chapter should be out soon, and longer than this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan hesitates on the threshold of Solas's study, wavering.

For the past week or so, the mage has been in a horrendous mood, snapping at anyone who draws near and prone to missing meals and meetings, often found staring out over the battlements of Skyhold with a deeply furrowed brow. Though Lavellan knows their friendship is a wavering and unsteady thing, mutual respect poorly balanced with wildly conflicting world views, they've made efforts on both sides to maintain it if only for the secret of the lost Elvhen artifact still lingering between them. Even so, last Lavellan came by to speak to Solas, he was all but bounced out on his arse, verbally. 

If he were not the Inquisitor, and could afford more leeway with his personal feelings, he might have been hurt. As it is, all he can think of is how Solas's mood might affect the Inquisition.

Especially now, with Garrett Hawke's letter tucked in the breast pocket of his tunic, weighing heavily against his heart. 

-

Solas's head snaps up at the sound of his door opening, a snarl pulling at his lips which he smoothes away with no small amount of effort. It's Lavellan, of course, looking somewhat anxious but hiding it well enough. And why shouldn't he be? Their last encounter ended with Solas snapping that there were things about the Elvhen that no Dalish could understand, or something to that effect. He barely remembers now. 

The anchor pulls, but Solas cannot go. He has neither the strength nor the time to travel by the Fade, not now. It would be a far simpler matter if the pull was constant - but if it were, Solas would not be worried.

Going on a week now, the anchor has been sporadic; pulling, easing, disappearing, flickering in and out of existence entirely. Solas has felt pain, loss, and grief through the anchor, but never this. Something is wrong.

But judging by the look on Lavellan's face, something  _here_ is wrong as well. Which is precisely why Solas cannot leave.

"Inquisitor," Solas says, fighting to keep his temper at bay. "What can I do for you?"

Lavellan watches him for a long moment, clearly assessing his mood before replying. "I need to speak with you and Dorian in private, as soon as you're available. Before the end of the day, if at all possible."

"I'm available now," Solas says, ignoring a mighty heave from the anchor followed by a heart-numbing silence. "And I imagine you would know Pavus's personal schedule better than I."

It isn't meant to be suggestive, but Lavellan colours regardless, and Solas fights the urge to roll his eyes.  _A Dalish mage, a Tevinter Altus, and a Tal Vashoth mercenary walk into a bar. Truly the beginning of a bad joke._

"Please come with me, then," Lavellan says, recovering from his blush very slowly. "Dorian has a private office upstairs."

"Does he now?" Solas says blandly.

Lavellan turns on his heel and makes for the stairs, muttering "By the Dread Wolf" under his breath. Solas, allowing himself a small smile at the Inquisitor's expense, follows only a few paces behind.

-

"I can't help but notice this is a rather magical gathering," Dorian says, closing the door of his office behind him.

Solas takes up post near a bookshelf, not entirely eager to take a seat anywhere in here after the depth of Lavellan's flush earlier. Lavellan seems too agitated to sit, all embarrassment forgotten as he worries at his lips, pacing in front of Dorian's desk.

"It is a problem that requires a magical solution, if there is any to be had," Lavellan says. "What I would ask of one of you... it might be a hopeless mission. And it would require one of you to leave, immediately."

"Amatus, you might want to try explaining the situation from the beginning," Dorian says softly.

Lavellan looks up, seeming grounded somewhat by Dorian's voice, and nods. 

"We received a letter from a Grey Warden outpost near the Western Approach this morning, by raven," Lavellan says, pulling the letter from his pocket. "From Garrett Hawke. It was sent nearly a week ago, so... there's really no knowing how much we can do, at this point."

Solas tenses. He knows- some part of him  _knows_ what's in that letter, but even so... "About what?"

Lavellan grimaces. "He's asking for help regarding a "personal matter," as the rest of the War Council seems to believe. His partner, Fenris, is dying. May have already died, given the time it's taken for the letter to reach us."

"No," Solas says bluntly.

Both Lavellan and Dorian look at him, confused, and Solas says, "We would have heard, had the elf died, would we not? There are methods of communication faster than ravens."

"I hope you're right," Lavellan says softly. "It's clearly a magical problem - honestly, Hawke is a mage himself, and he doesn't seem to know what's happening to Fenris. Apparently they were in the south-west when a Venatori mage struck Fenris with some kind of powerful binding spell, or something to that effect. It was heavily tied to Fade magic, and it interacted poorly with Fenris's lyrium markings. Very luckily Hawke followed his instinct and started heading our way the moment he sensed something was wrong with them, but it seems... It seems Fenris's condition has only deteriorated over time. The best Hawke seems able to describe it, Fenris's body is rejecting the lyrium, as if flesh and metal are no longer bonded the way they once were." Lavellan rubs his temple. "I'm neither a Fade mage, nor well-acquainted with Venatori spellcraft. And Vivienne is acting as Inquisition ambassador to oversee talks between Orlais and Ferelden mage associations. I know it might not be wise to dispatch one of the inner circle to deal with the problems of an individual, but Hawke did well by us in the past. Fenris himself is a political figure as well, important to the slave uprisings in Tevinter-"

"You don't need to convince us," Dorian says, stroking his chin with a frown. "However, I don't know if I'll be much help. While I've read up on Venatori Fade manipulation, it's not something I've ever had practical experience with. Solas?"

"I will go," Solas says, feeling for the anchor. Still flickering.  _Still alive._ "As you know, I'm familiar with Fade magic." To Dorian, he says, "I don't suppose you've any extra information on the ritual Danarius performed?"

Not that Solas needs it, really. He saw the aftermath for himself, kept Fenris alive through it, and later consumed Danarius's spirit. But there's always the slightest chance that he might be missing something, lost in endless memories both ancient and new.

Dorian shakes his head, lip curling a little. "Danarius bragged enough about his success to be heard from one end of the Imperium to the other, but he guarded his secrets closely. Likely out of fear that someone else might succeed, and his slave would no longer be one of a kind. Many tried, unfortunately, but none succeeded."

Lavellan looks nauseated, and again Solas wonders at the relationship between the elf and the Tevinter mage casually spouting horrors before him. 

"Hawke sent the letter from the outpost, but he intended to keep moving," Lavellan says, handing the letter to Solas. "He added a list of projected locations and dates, in a beeline to Skyhold. Given the current date, he could be nearly three quarters of the way to the Exalted Plains by now."

Solas scans the list, written in a quick scrawl, Hawke's worry clear in his writing. After a few quick calculations, he says, "We're most likely to meet north of the Emerald Graves, then. Perhaps not far from Emprise de Lion, if he keeps his pace up."

"If not, you'll have to work back through the other locations until you find him," Lavellan says, biting his lip. "It's a lot to ask-"

"I'll find them easily enough," Solas says brusquely. "And I do not mind. As I said when Hawke was here, I've always been intrigued by Fenris. Certainly the circumstances could be better, but if only for his efforts against the slave trade in the Free Marches, I am glad to help him."

Lavellan nods, clearly relieved. "Thank you, Solas. Take the fastest mount from the stables - my own, if you so wish. Dawnstone's fast as an arrow once she gets going, and slow to tire."

Solas inclines his head, his mind already a week ahead of himself, pressing his magic to the anchor like one might press fingers to one's pulse.  _Still alive._ "Thank you, Inquisitor. I will keep you informed."

As Solas leaves the office, he hears Dorian murmur, "Dawnstone? Did Bull make you name her that?"

"Well, she is pink."

-

Hawke is not where he said he would be, though Solas knows this long before he reaches the first supposed rendezvous point. He doesn't bother checking into the camp outside the Emprise, simply hugs his cloak a little tighter around himself and urges the wild hart onwards. Dawnstone - _ridiculous name for an animal -_ lets out a long bugle, and continues forward. 

He's moving faster than most would, as he does not need to rest as often as others might. Most times, in fact, he stops for a few hours to let the hart recover, knowing that letting his mount die out of reckless haste would be unforgivable idiocy. In those scarce moments to himself, he lets his eyes drift close, following the flickering anchor...

... _following the anchor, and there is pain and deadly numbness in turns, but sometimes he'll catch flashes. He sees Fenris wrapped tight against Hawke on horseback, each bound of the animal's canter agony, teeth gritted against the pain and his eyes red and deeply shadowed..._

... _he sees Hawke lift a waterskin to Fenris's lips, but Fenris has hardly the strength to drink. The lyrium flashes, burns, and for a horrible moment, disappears entirely, leaving deep, hollow grooves in Fenris's flesh that cut straight down to bare bone. Hawke's eyes widen, staring in horror at Fenris's flayed skin, then the lyrium reappears..._

... _they're only a league from the furthest camp of the Exalted Plains, holed up in a fortress that once belonged to the Wardens, now bustling with activity as a foothold for Empress Celene's army. This time, Fenris is in a proper sickbed, though he hardly seems aware enough to appreciate the change._

_"If you take to the road again, the journey will kill him," an Orlesian healer is saying, firm authority masking horror and no small amount of revulsion at Fenris's condition. Likely by now she'd seen the lyrium flicker out of Fenris's flesh as well._

_"If I don't get him to Skyhold soon, he'll die," Hawke snaps, his face grey. "Unless you have some experts on lyrium and Fade magic lurking about."_

_"Our healers are some of the best in Thedas," the healer says with a sniff. "We will try, Serah Hawke. I must ask you to think practically, however. No one has survived lyrium infusion like this in hundreds of years - and from our records, those who did survive all that time ago did not live very long. Your partner's case is highly unusual..."_

_Solas feels himself becoming the Wolf in this dream despite himself, anger coursing through him at the healer's dismissal._

_"Salvete..."_

_Hawke, the healer, and Solas all turn their attention to Fenris, who stares at Solas, delirious enough to see both the waking world and the Fade._

_"Amicus, implore te, salvete..." Fenris murmurs, reaching for Solas with a trembling hand. "Amicus..."_

_"That's lyrium poisoning," the healer says, her voice a little softer. "It causes visions-"_

_"I know," Hawke says shortly, closing the distance between himself and Fenris, putting a hand on Fenris's bare shoulder. "There's no one there, love. You're going to hurt yourself."_

_"Implore te, necesse... soporate, amicus, implore te-"_

  _Fenris breaks off with a short cry as the markings flare again, and Hawke pulls him gently back onto the bed, brushing white strands of hair from his eyes. "It's alright, love, help is coming. It will be alright."_

_Fenris doesn't listen, only watches as Solas approaches in wolf form, eyes pleading._

_"Grati..." Fenris whispers, as Solas breathes over him, the room around him dissolving as Fenris drifts into a dreamless sleep._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I will stop writing bad things happening to Fenris. One of these days.
> 
> Today is not that day. Sorry Fenris.
> 
> AS ALWAYS I LOVE COMMENTS AND EVERYONE AND YEAH sorry for the short chapters in this fic the natural breaks are just... either super close together or super far apart and I wanted to get the next chapter out asap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy howdy this is where things exit "plausible canon" land and go tumbling straight down the rabbit hole into "what the hell FoxNonny" universe of the somewhat out there. Tags for blood magic and gore on this chapter, as well as me being mean to Fenris. Again. 
> 
> Also, tag for French. It's my second language so I apologize in advance if the grammar sucks. If people really want translations, let me know.
> 
> Also kudos to Emilinia_sama for figuring out a plot point ahead of time (re: Hawke's magic and Fenris's markings)! I might work in the idea of Solas going through Hawke's memories if not in this fic, then in a short drabble. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting on this, it makes my day and I love you all. Sorry for the long-ass chapter, my pacing is what it is.

The hart is frothing at the mouth, sweat pouring over her flanks, when Solas comes careening into the fortress courtyard. It's far from his most graceful entrance, but he does not go flying over the beast's antlers when she skids a little on the cobblestones in an attempt to halt, and he takes no small amount of pride in that.  

Or he would, if the anchor hadn't faded to a frayed thread, no stronger than a strand of cobweb, and still flickering. 

" _Merde,_   _lapin, flammes d'Andraste, penses-tu que tu peu-?_ "

"I'm here on behalf of the Inquisitor," Solas snaps at the Orlesian squire, who stops mid-scold. He slides from the hart's back, thrusting the reigns into the startled man's gauntlets. "Where is your healer's chambers?"

"E-east wing," the squire stammers, eyeing Dawnstone warily. "What do you want me to do with-?"

"Take care of it," Solas growls, stalking away without looking back. "It belongs to the Inquisitor himself. I'd suggest doing your best to keep it alive."

There's another round of Orlesian swearing behind him, but he doesn't care. _So close, and Fenris is still alive._

People part to let him pass, despite the dirt of his hard travel here and his outfit - built for comfort, not style, a sin amongst these people no doubt. Still, Solas knows he's more the Wolf at present than the apostate elf, and whether they realize the cause of it or not, those who step aside for him do it out of fear, not respect. 

At the next doorway, leading to the east wing, an Orlesian healer waits for him, and he recognizes her as the one from his vision. The one who'd been far too ready to accept Fenris's death as an eventuality. 

"You're the Inquisitor's emissary?" she says, raising an eyebrow as Solas approaches. "Strange, but then, so is the Herald, or so I'm told-"

"Why are you not with the patient?" Solas snarls, blowing past her. There's a pause as the woman processes the shock of being so rudely interrupted, then Solas hears her pattering footsteps as she fights to catch up with him without abandoning all decorum and running.

"There is hardly anything we can do at this point, _serah_ ," she says, disdain clear in her tone. "I don't know what Messere Hawke told you in his missive, but you have not yet seen the situation for yourself. It is hopeless. We've only been keeping him alive long enough for you to arrive, and to me that seems a cruelty when the elf is clearly in pain."

"And Hawke has let you give up, has he?" Solas says, pushing his way into a corridor and turning up a flight of stairs. The healer either does not notice how Solas seems to know exactly where he's headed despite having never been here, or simply decides not to comment on the matter. 

"Hardly," the healer says, sounding exhausted. "We've had to separate them."

Solas whips around to give the woman a hard look. "You _what?_ "

"The fool was draining his life force for the elf," the woman says. "When we found him this morning, he was half-dead. Hadn't slept in days. He was exhausting his magic to keep the lyrium stable. You tell me, serah, ought I have let both men die? Ought I have let the _Champion of Kirkwall_  die for-?"

"For an elf?" Solas says dangerously.

"For a lost cause," the woman says. "Messere Hawke collapsed, so we put him in another room and we've been keeping him asleep for his own safety. This puts the elf's life in your hands, serah. Your choice to make on his behalf."

"There is no choice to make," Solas says. "He will live."

"Not for much longer," the healer says.

A landing, another door, and upon opening it Solas hears a sharp cry from down the hall.

The next moment passes in a blur; one moment he is on the landing, and the next he's at the end of the corridor, throwing open an oak door, magic shivering in his veins as though he's about to fight. 

Fenris is no longer lying in the sickbed of Solas's vision. Instead, he lies on an examination table - _strapped down_ \- rambling in near-incoherent Tevene as his markings flash and dim sporadically. Another healer and his apprentice stand at Fenris's side, one pouring magic into the markings, dripping with sweat from the effort of trying to stabilize. Solas can feel the lyrium fighting the healer's magic, rejecting it outright, and it's obvious that it's doing nothing to help the situation.

Here, now, Solas can feel the little rips and tears forming in the Fade around Fenris, as the unstable lyrium carved into his flesh rends the Veil apart with each pulse of chaotic magic. 

" _Dominus- implore te, dominus, implore-_ " Fenris chokes, breaking off into a short cry as the energy rips through him again.

" _Il m'a presque tué encore, Marienne,_ " the healer snaps, looking to the woman on Solas's heels. " _La magique ne l'aide pas. Et il crie comme ça constamment! Qu'est-ce qu'il m'appelle-?_ "

""Master,"" Solas answers, feeling a familiar rage building deep in his chest as the Orlesians trade shocked expressions at his comprehension of their language. "He's calling you "Master.""

The healer stares at him a moment, then looks over Solas's shoulder at the woman - Marienne - and asks flatly, " _C'est qui?_ "

" _L'Inquisiteur lui a envoié,_ " Marienne says. " _Un apostat_."

" _Par Andraste, vraiment?_ "

Fenris pulls against his bindings in helpless misery, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. " _Dominus_..." 

"Everyone must leave," Solas says, fists clenched. "Someone wake Hawke and bring him here."

"The Champion is ill-"

" _Sais-tu ta place,_ apostat-?"

" _Get out_ ," Solas growls, approaching the table, eyes narrowed. "I won't ask again. I am here on behalf of Inquisitor Lavellan - I do not suggest doing yourselves the disfavour of angering him by angering _me._ "

Another round of traded glances, and the healers step away from Fenris, eyes cold. 

"He is your patient now, _messere_ ," the healer says, in thickly-accented Common. "But he will not last the night, I assure you. We've brewed some Quiet Death to ease his passing - you will find it on the table by the window. If you've any mercy at all, you will allow Messere Hawke a chance to say his farewells, and then you will give the elf some peace."

"I will bear that in mind," Solas says stiffly. "Now leave. If Hawke isn't wakened and brought here within the next ten minutes, I will drag him from his room myself."

The Orlesians file out, muttering sourly under their breath, but Solas doesn't care. With a flick of his wrist he sends a tendril of magic out to slam the oak door behind them, leaving him alone with Fenris. 

_His child._  

In the flesh, for the first time. 

The rips in the Veil pull at Solas's magic, twisting and aching in sharp little pinpricks as he gets closer to Fenris. His eyes fall on the bindings and his temper flares, but as he watches Fenris thrash once, the markings causing a violent convulsion, he realizes with a sense of irritated resignation that they're necessary to keep Fenris from hurting himself.

Solas frowns.

There's blood, seeping from under some of Fenris's markings, as though they've been ripped away from him in places. _Solas's blood_. He can smell it on the air, even with the duller senses of this form. 

" _Dominus- dominus, contriste, implore te-_ "

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Solas says, taking Fenris's face in his hands and brushing sweat-damp hair from his eyes. There are deep shadows under Fenris's eyes, his face gaunt and grey, and this close Solas can feel his life force failing as if it were his own heart that struggled to beat. "I came as quickly as I could. Look at me, Fenris, focus. Look at me."

Fenris's eyes dart around the room once before meeting Solas's. They widen, and Solas can see a spark of recognition there. " _Amicus_..."

"There's no "master" here, child," Solas says softly. "Just me. And will not let you die, I promise."

Fenris blinks at this, and for a moment he no longer looks confused and frightened, just exhausted, as if all the fight in him has been wrung out by the poison in his blood. 

"You need to be strong, still," Solas says. "As strong as you've ever been; stronger, perhaps, for a little while longer."

Solas's ear twitches as he hears an angry hollering from the corridor, and he grimaces. Clearly the Orlesians have just woken up Hawke. 

Returning his attention to Fenris, whose eyes have slid away from Solas again, he considers trying to take Fenris's pain into himself and immediately rejects the idea. Any distraction could prove disastrous at this point, while Fenris is so fragile. Instead, he sets about examining the markings themselves. 

His breath leaves him in a low hiss as he sends a thread of magic into Fenris's skin, prodding at the ruined flesh around the lyrium. The lyrium is no longer grafted into Fenris's skin and bone as it once was, a fluid part of his body - instead, it lies uneven and out of sync in his flesh, poorly-bonded and impossible to control. Without the protection of the lyrium as part of him, the poison of the metal leaks freely into his blood.

Pushing further, Solas realizes that the lyrium has already irreparably damaged Fenris's heart, wreaking havoc through the rest of his body and likely taking parts of his mind as well. Even with the accelerated healing granted by the lyrium in its stable form, Fenris might not recover.

Before Solas can think too deeply on this, and what it means, the door slams open and Hawke stumbles in, still shouting.

" _Motherfucking_  sons of back-alley Orlesian _nug-lickers_ ," Hawke snaps, kicking the door closed behind him before half-walking, half-falling over to Fenris's side. "Those- _fuck._ "

"What are your magic reserves like?" Solas says. Pleasantries are an unaffordable luxury when their time is so very nearly at its end.

Hawke blinks at him, clearly still half-asleep, and says, "Good, Lavellan sent you. I had hoped he would. I've already tossed back two lyrium potions, but it's- it's like pouring water into a bottomless pit, using my magic on these markings. It helps, though, I know it helps-"

"Stabilize the markings as best you can, and tell me exactly what happened," Solas says, straightening. 

Hawke sets to work immediately, murmuring soothing nothings under his breath as he lays a hand on Fenris's chest and lets his magic flow out through his fingers, sinking into the lyrium. Fenris stiffens for a moment with a sharp gasp, then relaxes back, some of the pain etched in the lines of his frown abating.

Solas notes with interest how easily the lyrium accepts Hawke's magic, thinking back to the Orlesian healer who'd tried the same thing without success. 

"A Venatori opened a temporary Fade rift to try to trap us," Hawke says, his eyes never leaving Fenris's face. "Like a fly stuck in honey, is how it felt. It pulled at the magic in me, keeping me from moving, as though it was trying to suck me in. And it pulled at Fenris's lyrium. It stopped when the Venatori went down, but after that, Fenris said he could not control his markings anymore. I could tell they were paining him- some were bleeding, which I've never seen before. The lyrium in his skin is some of the best-tempered lyrium I've ever had contact with; it's balanced, powerful but malleable. Somehow that spell changed the property of the lyrium, and now-"

The lyrium flashes brightly, and disappears. Fenris shouts at the pain of the raw flesh, suddenly exposed, and Solas feels Hawke _yank_  at the disappeared lyrium until it returns. 

"It was pulled into the Fade, just now," Solas says, noting the new rip in the Veil caused by the lyrium's disappearance.

Hawke nods. "As I said - completely unstable. I- I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help him. Tell me there's something we can do."

Solas cannot look at Hawke, with his amber eyes red from exhaustion and fear, fists clenching as a dreadful selfishness fills his heart. _How dare this man act as though Fenris belongs to him, and him alone?_

But he does not know, of course, and it would be far from wise to reveal Fenris's bloodline out of selfishness. Solas has lost children before, in centuries long past; he will not lose another, if he can help it. 

"The lyrium had to be applied in a certain way for it to graft with the flesh, rather than seep into the body and poison the blood, as it is doing now," Solas says, thinking aloud. "A certain temperature, a certain consistency, a certain magical frequency- all variables Danarius would have experimented with long before he took a knife to Fenris."

He looks over to see Hawke grasping Fenris's hand, but watching Solas with a surprisingly sharp attentiveness. His estimation of the man rises slightly at this, and he continues.

"Ideally we would know those variables already, but as it is, we can only work by our best approximation," Solas says, casting his mind back to that day all those years ago when he stabilized Fenris's markings himself. "Your magic is well-attuned to the lyrium. Would you say you might be able to guess with some accuracy what they should feel like?"

The markings flicker, and Fenris's chest heaves with a helpless wheeze of pain, and though Hawke flinches he does not waver. "I can try."

"I will assist. I have some ideas as to what might work." _If his memory is serving him well._  "If we can stabilize the markings, the rest... is on Fenris. Both his mind and body will have to fight to get the markings under his control again, not to mention heal from all this."

Hawke does look away now, his eyes landing on Fenris's wasted face. "How likely is it, that he'll pull through?"

_Unlikely._

"If we think on that, we will defeat ourselves before we start," Solas says brusquely. "The bulk of the magic necessary to complete this task will have to come from you. I will fine-tune it as we feed the markings. I cannot emphasize enough the need for control; while our magic is tied with the lyrium like this, one wrong step could kill us both, as well as Fenris. Do you understand?" 

Hawke nods, and lifts his free hand from Fenris's chest to offer to Solas, magic gathering in his palm.

With only a scant moment of hesitation, Solas takes it, his other hand coming to rest on Fenris's wrist. 

Solas does not know how long they stay like this, Solas pulling magic from Hawke like a glassmith might work a hot gather, shaping it as he starts to temper the lyrium. It accepts his magic readily; a small mercy. Solas had half-expected it to reject him as it had the Orlesian healer. 

_It remembers me._

Fenris slips from one feverish delusion to the next, from Tevene to Common and back again, seeing old horrors through poisoned eyes as the lyrium writhes and changes nature within his skin. Solas and Hawke both flinch when they hear Danarius's name in Fenris's panicked shouts, though the flow of magic remains steady throughout. Eventually Fenris's breaths become too ragged and shallow for speech, and save the occasional whispered plea for mercy or threat of revenge, Fenris falls silent. 

It could be hours, it could be minutes, but Solas can feel it when they're close, the subtle shift in the responsiveness of the lyrium under their hands. Solas can sense that it remembers, a little, what it was meant to be, how it was once in harmony with its host. It starts to calm, the pulses of wild magic less frequent, staying within this reality as it begins to settle back into Fenris's skin.

He cannot allow it, _should not_ allow it, but he starts to hope... just a small flicker, an ember of hope...

" _Ir abelas_."

Solas's head snaps up, the unexpected Elvhen utterly capturing his attention.

Fenris watches him, his eyes focused if not wholly clear, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

Distantly, he hears Hawke ask what language Fenris is speaking, but he does not care. 

" _Ir abelas, falon_ ," Fenris says again. " _Dareth shiral_."

Solas cannot speak, can only watch as Fenris turns his head with clear effort to look at Hawke, his expression softening until he looks far younger, far more peaceful than Solas has ever seen him.

"It's alright, Garrett," Fenris says quietly, through ragged breaths.

His eyes fall closed, and with a last laboured sigh, his breathing stills. 

Solas almost forgets Hawke is in the room, until the man lets out an anguished sound, taking Fenris's slack face in his hands, patting his ashen cheeks as if hoping to rouse him.

Solas does not move, does not react, distantly realizing that his hand is clenched tight enough around Fenris's wrist that he feels it when Fenris's heart stops. 

The anchor falters, and is gone, as if it never existed to begin with. 

Solas's mind casts to the past, the present, and the future - remembering all those others he has lost, all those he is likely to lose, and the long years that will temper the pain until he can think on it with an echo of remorse, and nothing more. When all is said and done, it will not matter so much, losing Fenris. Not when his lifespan compared to Solas's amounts to little more than a blink of an eye. It was always going to be so; better now than later, perhaps. 

He feels Fenris's wrist pull in his grasp, and looks up to see Hawke snapping the last of the bindings with his magic, gathering Fenris up in his arms to hold close, weeping quietly. Fenris looks small and impossibly fragile like this, limp in Hawke's embrace, as Hawke presses his lips to Fenris's hair and closes his eyes against the tears falling fast and thick over his cheeks. 

Solas should leave, he knows. There is nothing more for him here. 

_Ir abelas, falon. Dareth shiral._

"Fenris does not speak Elvhen," he says, more to himself than Hawke.

Hawke shakes his head. 

Solas looks down at his hands, covered in Fenris's blood. His blood. The blood of the ancient Elvhen, who had once all been immortal. 

Solas has thought, many times, on how similar Fenris is to his true kin - taller than most, stronger than most, a sharp intellect well-honed despite the magister's efforts to keep him ignorant. Close, but not enough. Not enough of Solas's blood in him to keep him from the inevitability of death. 

But that could change. 

_It will take nearly all my strength,_  he reasons, pulling a knife from his tunic. _Foolish. The child will likely die anyway, once my Din'anshiral is complete. A waste for nothing, for sentiment. This is not wise._

"Put him back on the table," Solas says, his voice sounding hollow to his ears, and so very far away. 

Hawke seems to note the change in Solas's voice, though his alarm is heavily dulled by his grief as he looks first to the knife, then meets Solas's eyes. "What do you intend to do?"

"It will take far too long to explain, and then it will be too late," Solas says, calling every last shred of power he has to the forefront of his mind, taking advantage of the rips in the Veil left by the unstable lyrium to soak in the magic of the Fade. "I can save him, that is all you need to know. He will live."

Hawke's eyes brighten with a painful hope, then darken as they fall upon the knife again. "At what cost?"

Solas feels a snarl coming to his lips but forces it down, schooling his frustration as best he can. "A cost to my magic, yours, and my blood, if you must know. I have given far more for far less. Fenris will wake better than he was before, I promise you."

Those are the wrong words to say, apparently, the hope in Hawke's expression extinguishing utterly before Solas finishes his vow. He looks at Fenris's still face, reaching up with a bloodied hand to touch Fenris's cheek. 

"That's not what he would want," Hawke says, his grief weighing heavy on every word. "Thank you, but I won't do that to him. I cannot. He... he deserves whatever peace the afterlife might grant him."

Solas nods. "I will tell him you said that."

He flings out a hand, and Hawke is thrown from the table to collide with a far wall, head smacking the oak hard enough to daze him. He struggles to his feet as Solas approaches, brimming with power.

"Are you mad? You _can't_ ," Hawke says, clearly winded as he pulls magic to his hands, weakened by his attempts to stabilize the lyrium. "I will not let you do this to him. I have seen the work of necromancy destroy someone I love before, I _will not_  let it happen again."

Solas's lip curls. "I'm afraid you cannot stop me."

A twist of his hand, and Hawke drops, his consciousness ripped away for the time being. Solas stoops to gather Hawke's magic, and considers draining the man dry before dismissing the thought. Fenris will not be happy with what Solas is about to do - it would hardly make things better if he killed his child's lover.

He turns back to the table and arranges Fenris's body properly, ignoring the horrible limpness and cooling flesh of death, focusing his mind on the task before him.

He sends most of Hawke's magic into the markings to finish the stabilization process, drawing on the power of the lyrium in the meantime to expel poisoned blood from Fenris's body. It oozes out of his pores like a fine mist, the dead blood nearly black as it drips sluggishly to the floor around the table. Hardly hygienic. Solas doesn't care. 

When this is done, the lyrium is relatively stable, and Fenris is ghostly pale from the exsanguination. _Necessary. All necessary._

Solas lifts his knife and starts to carve into Fenris's wrists, chest, even slashing open part of Fenris's leggings to access the large artery of his thigh. There is hardly enough blood left in him to bleed, so deep was the lyrium's corruption. _No matter._

Coldly, calculatingly, Solas brings the knife to his own skin, cutting deep into one wrist, then another. Deep enough to kill, if left to bleed too long. Sooner, far sooner, were he a mortal being. 

His blood spills over his wrists, lifted by magic and directed by Solas into the cuts in Fenris's skin. Solas can feel it as his life blood starts to fill collapsed and damaged veins and arteries, sees a deceptive flush in Fenris's cheeks as blood courses through him again. _Living blood. Blood that does not die._

He gives as much as he can, all that he can, until black spots appear in his vision and he feels his heart pound heavily in his chest, starving. With a spark of magic he closes the slashes in his wrists, then does the same to the wounds in Fenris's flesh. 

He does not pause. 

It's a simple thing, bringing the body to life again. Any starting necromancer can create a thrall, make the dead walk and kill. Bringing the spirit back is another matter entirely, but one that Solas does not have to think about just yet. 

He calls a little lightning to his fingertips and casts it into Fenris's chest, forcing the heart to start beating again. The heart is damaged, the lungs are damaged, every part of Fenris's body broken in some way.

But now, the blood within him sings of immortality, strength, and health. With a push of Solas's magic as an accelerant, Fenris starts to heal. 

Heal, and change.

Bruises fade, the ruined skin under the lyrium knits together, his heart beats stronger with every passing moment. Fenris's body lets out a long gasp as the lungs start to work again, hauling air into his chest. His eyes open; blank, empty, horribly so, but the burst veins and redness of his eyes fade.

It is not just the injuries that are healed. Lines of age in Fenris's face soften, his skin turned dark again, but far smoother than before. He looks both younger, and older, something ageless filling the set of his face. The difference is remarkable; one would be hard-pressed to define what exactly has changed, but there can be no denying that a transformation has indeed occurred.

The body is near-mended and Solas exhausted as he turns his mind to the Veil, knowing there is but one last step. One last chance to turn away from this path.

He closes his eyes, and casts his spirit into the Fade. 

He expects the search to be long, to have to race to follow the path of Fenris's spirit as it slips beyond his reach. Instead, he crosses through the Veil and a spirit of Compassion waits for him, something luminous and shifting like smoke cradled softly in its hands. 

_Fenris._

Reflecting the assumptions of Solas's mind, the spirit takes on the shape of Cole, shoulders slumping as Solas approaches. 

" _You should not do this_ ," it says, though it makes no move to leave. " _I can help. I can tell you that he felt peace when he died. He often feared he would die alone, but he didn't. It was good for him._ "

Solas quirks a sad smile. "You are a spirit of Compassion, not Wisdom. I know you feel the pain his passing has caused."

" _Most passings cause pain,_ " the spirit says, but it sounds uncertain. It looks down at Fenris's soul, clearly conflicted. " _His pain brought me here. I was glad it ended the way it did. He was glad too. He's at peace now._ "

"He deserves better," Solas says gently, meaning one thing.

" _He deserves better,_ " the spirit echoes, meaning another. 

Solas holds out his hands. "Look into my heart, I beg you. You will see I hold no malice or ill intent for the child. I _want_  him to be at peace."

Solas puts firm walls around anything outside of his feelings regarding Fenris, knowing the spirit might flee if it knew too much of him. He feels the spirit's touch on his mind, a sense of belonging and forgiveness overtaking him as it does, bringing tears to his eyes. 

Then it is over, and the spirit moves away. " _You will care for him?_ "

"As much as he will let me, and more, even if he does not," Solas says.

The spirit nods, and holds out its cupped hands. Solas closes the distance and takes Fenris's soul into his palm, alien emotions, thoughts, and memories flicking through his mind as he does so. _Fenris's. Everything he is, and was._

"I am so very grateful," Solas says, bowing deeply. "You have helped me more than I can say."

He feels a ripple of satisfaction from the spirit, and then it is gone.

It's a tricky thing, bringing Fenris back with him through the Veil, and he goes slowly to keep his spirit intact as he flows back into his own mind, and wakes.

Fenris's spirit, invisible to all but Solas, rests in his hands.

Hawke is stirring across the room, and Solas knows he no longer has the strength to cast him aside. No matter. The work is nearly done. 

He guides the spirit with his hands, moving it carefully to rest above Fenris's living corpse, letting it flow slowly back into its shell.

"Please don't do this," Hawke says, slurring from exhaustion, half-conscious. Solas ignores him. _The work is nearly done._

There's a large ripple of Fade energy as Fenris's spirit binds to his body once more, and Solas winces. _Even the weakest mage within this fortress would have felt that_. 

One moment, Fenris's corpse lies on the table, breathing evenly and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

Then he blinks, and he is Fenris once more _._

He sits up with a gasp, a hand on his chest, scrabbling off the table with a short shout of fear and rage as he catches sight of the open bindings. He sees Solas first - sees him and _knows_  him, his eyes flaring wide, but before he can say anything Hawke's broken cry of "Oh, Maker, _Fenris_ " catches his attention instead.

"Hawke," Fenris croaks, his face falling as he turns to look at him. "Hawke, no, you cannot be dead too."

He wavers, and collapses, unconscious before he hits the floor.

Solas moves to help him, but Hawke is faster, practically lunging across the bloodied floor to get to Fenris first. He picks Fenris up with some difficulty and moves away from Solas, still too weak to stand as he presses his fingers to Fenris's pulse point.

"He is alive," Solas says calmly. "I left you what magic you needed to live - it should be enough for you to check his spirit. You will find it is uncorrupted, and quite whole."

Hawke is already doing this as Solas speaks, and his face is warped with a combination of relief, fear, and anger when he looks up again.

"What _are_ you?" he asks.

There's a pounding at the door that startles both of them, shouts of Orlesian coming from the other side. Very unhappy shouts indeed.

_And here come the mages to figure out what the apostate elf could have possibly done to have caused such a disruption in the fabric of the Veil._

Hawke glances over his shoulder, and looks back at Solas, eyes cold. "What would stop me from telling the Orlesians what you did? To have you taken away for blood magic and necromancy?"

"They will kill Fenris if you do," Solas says, equally frigid. "Probably burn him for good measure, to make sure he does not return. I imagine that's not what you want."

Hawke winces, holding Fenris a little closer. "Fenris knew you, somehow. When he spoke to you, I could tell. I wrote it off as deliriousness when it happened, but his eyes were clear when he spoke to me after. He knew he was talking to _you_ , before-"

_Bang. Bang._

" _Laissez-nous entrez!_ "

"When Fenris awakens, I will explain everything to him," Solas says impatiently, crossing his arms. "He can decide from there what he wants you to know. I mean him no harm."

"I cannot trust that," Hawke snaps. 

" _Vous avez cinq secondes, puis nous allons forcer la porte._ "

Solas closes the distance between them, taking Hawke's chin firmly in hand, fingers digging into his jaw. The man's eyes widen, but he only bends to shield Fenris, and does not struggle to escape Solas's grasp.

"You promised me once, Garrett Hawke," Solas says quietly. "You promised you would keep him safe, no matter the cost. _Remember._ "

Hawke jerks back, shakes his head, and looks up at Solas with fresh eyes. 

_Remembering._  

"Oh shit," he says.

The door blasts open, and half a dozen Orlesian mages pour in, staffs out, Marienne at the front of the group with stern eyes. All stop short when they see the odd scene before them; Solas slowly stepping back, covered in blood, Hawke staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, and Fenris alive and very healthy, sleeping in his arms. 

" _C'est quoi ces conneries?_ " one mage mutters, wide-eyed.

"What did you do?" Marienne asks flatly, staring at Solas.

"What you and your healers could not," Solas says coolly. "The elf is alive, and will likely live to see many more years beyond this one."

"We felt-"

"It took strong magic to fix," Hawke says, surprising Solas. Hawke looks down at Fenris, his eyes softening. "Solas... needed to pull that power from the Fade. That was what you felt."

Solas can tell that Marienne is not convinced, her tone dry as she says to him, "I see why the Inquisitor recruited you. A useful skill, being able to heal one so close to death."

"It was luck of circumstance," Solas says. "It drained the both of us nearly dry."

"I can see that." Marienne stares at them a moment longer, then sighs. "Champion, we will help you back to your quarters. Jaques, please see to it that the servants clean this place immediately."

Hawke struggles to stand, the slight weight of Fenris holding him down. He looks up with a pained grimace. "We need a stretcher for Fenris- I can't carry him to my room-"

"I'd like to keep the patient here a little while longer," Solas says. "Just to keep him under observation, to make sure the lyrium is truly stable."

Hawke's eyes narrow, opening his mouth to protest, but Solas cuts him a hard look and says, "Remember? Just as we _discussed_."

The look Hawke gives him suggests that even in this state, he's not afraid to challenge the Wolf. Solas is not at his best himself, but he meets that look with one of his own, all but baring his teeth. 

"That sounds reasonable," Marienne says reluctantly. "You do need your rest, Champion, truly. And your partner is hardly in any condition to share your bed."

Hawke's head snaps up at that, eyes murderous, but Solas intercepts by crouching down before Hawke, arms out. "May I?"

Hawke is defeated, and knows it. Solas can see as much in his frustrated expression as he relaxes his hold on Fenris just enough for Solas to take him into his arms.

"If I do not have answers by sundown tomorrow, I will tear you apart, nightmare-wolf or not," Hawke murmurs, barely moving his lips, far too quietly for anyone but Solas to hear. Solas responds with a slight inclination of his head, then stands.

He watches for only a few moments as a few mages stoop down to help Hawke to his feet, his significant weight clearly proving to be a struggle for the slight Orlesians supporting him. Then Solas turns away, walking to the other end of the chamber where the sickbed is, his eyes fixed on Fenris. 

He finds a washcloth and some water, easily heated with what little magic Solas has left, and he starts to clean the worst of the blood and sweat from Fenris's face and arms, deep in thought. 

He still does not know how closely, how directly he and Fenris are related, only that Fenris is strong in his bloodline. During his long slumber there were times, a few times, where he woke to walk the land for a year or so, still half-dreaming, and yes, he'd partaken in what pleasures the world had to offer. Fenris could be his son, grandson, or long-lost descendent, truly, and he's been forced to wonder more than once if his attachment to the child was borne out of abject loneliness.

But not anymore. Fenris is truly Elvhen now, truly of Solas's people. He brought the child to life himself.

_My son, then_ , Solas thinks, studying the changed lines of Fenris's face. His _Elvhen_ face.  _My son._

It feels true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some random shit I guess:
> 
> \- You might notice that the Orlesians used "tu" a lot when talking to Solas. In French this is a shitty thing to do if you don't have permission to do so - it's either a gesture of familiarity, or a pissy way of showing someone that you consider them your inferior. Teachers can "tutoyer" kids, kids would "vousvoyer" teachers, etc. 
> 
> \- This chapter got heavier than I thought it would so seriously I might have to write an awkward family dinner fic before getting into the next chapter just to, you know, recover. 
> 
> \- Fenris gets carried around a lot in my fics. Usually by Hawke. I imagine Fenris is getting grumpy with me about it somewhere but he's usually unconscious when it happens so like v(^-^)v 
> 
> \- If this chapter was heavy for you, I suggest watching this video and imagining Solas going back to Skyhold like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L8b1zPE0-Y
> 
> I hope this chapter delivered, thank you for reading, thank.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris wakes up.

He blinks once, and again, almost sent under again by how overwhelmingly _odd_ he feels. No, not overwhelming- it's not as if he's being overtaken by a wave of change, buffeted about and left confused and dizzy by it. Rather, it's as everything around him is already monumentally different from before he... before he...

He blinks again, a little slower this time, and tries to piece things together. 

First, his memory... patchy, which already makes him ill at ease. When so much of his life has already been swallowed up in a mind-numbing fog, losing any more of it- he _can't_. He won't. He concentrates as hard as he can, trying to think _._

There was the fight with the Venatori, that- that _spell_ , pulling anything magical into the Fade, like Hawke. Like his markings. Yes, he remembers the agony of feeling the lyrium rip free of his flesh and bone. Beyond that, his memories are scattered and pained. From one place to another, his waking moments consumed by torment both physical and... he saw things. He shivers. Yes, he saw terrible things. 

There is none of that pain now. In fact, there is no pain whatsoever.

That distracts Fenris utterly from his attempts to piece together his memory, and his thoughts instead turn to the present. 

As a warrior in Danarius's service, as a friend and lover of Garrett Hawke sharing in his misadventures, and as an elf with thrice-damned lyrium carved into his flesh, Fenris is no stranger to pain. He's older now, than he was - he feels it in the stiffness of his bones and muscles when he wakes up in the mornings, old injuries complaining after being left too long to settle and tense. That ankle he crushed when he was on the run... the shoulder muscles he ripped when he fought that dragon in the Bone Pit... that one finger in his left hand that never healed straight after he snapped it clean in a bar fight (a group of rebel Templars saw Hawke and thought to take their misguided revenge on him for the mage uprising)... for the first time in years, he feels none of these pains and aches. 

In fact, he feels _good._  Like he could spring from this bed and fight a dragon on his own, burn down all of Minrathous, sprint from wherever the Void he is to Corypheus's lair and take on the demon himself.

Coupled with that, however, is an uneasy sense of stillness. Almost as if he's stopped breathing, or as if his heart has ceased to beat in his chest. 

Something is wrong.

He notices, for the first time, a familiar warmth over his right hand, and turns his head.

There, next to his bed, sits Hawke in what appears to be a horrifically uncomfortable wooden chair, his large frame folded up on himself with his head resting on the palm of one hand, the other hand folded up around Fenris's. Hawke's lips are parted, his breathing slow and even, his eyes closed and bruised with exhaustion.

Whatever his unease, Fenris can't help but smile at this.

He moves his hand under Hawke's to twine their fingers together, and Hawke immediately starts awake, honey-eyes flying open as his face slips off his palm and nearly collides with the armrest beneath him.

"Fenris-" Hawke says, then stops, his stare locked on Fenris's eyes. " _Maker_."

Fenris's blood runs cold at the exclamation. He sits up, gripping Hawke's hand a little tighter. "Garrett?"

Hawke blinks, still staring, then looks away, his expression shuttered. "It's nothing." He looks up again, his eyes soft. "Love... how are you feeling?"

"Strange," Fenris says honestly, more than a little uneasy now. "My body feels... healed, so I imagine I'm no longer in peril. But... what happened, exactly?"

He expects Hawke to slip into bed with him, as he's done many times before when Fenris wakes up after a healing, as Fenris has done for him. Especially with this utter _strangeness_  setting his nerves on edge, he finds himself craving the safety of Hawke's arms, the warmth of his embrace.

Hawke doesn't move. He holds Fenris's hand, but he doesn't look Fenris in the eye again. No, something is very wrong indeed. 

"We're still in Orlais," Hawke says slowly, something heavy in his words. "I couldn't get us to Skyhold fast enough, and you were- if we went any further-" he closes his eyes. "We tried to keep you stable, but- I- they took me away from you, for a time. Maybe if they hadn't- if I hadn't-"

"Garrett," Fenris says again, sitting up (his limbs loose and limber, a vast well of energy he's never had filling his body as he moves). "Why won't you look at me?"

Hawke breathes, shuddering a little as he does so, his head bowed. Looking up again, he says, "Do you know an elf named Solas?"

"The elf you spoke to at Skyhold," Fenris says reflexively. _But no_...

Years of blocked memories start cascading through Fenris's mind, forgotten dreams and conversations whirling in a maelstrom behind his eyes. It only takes a moment, but when his thoughts settle again, Fenris feels almost like a different person from who he was before remembering. It's not a pleasant feeling.

Still, part of him is glad to remember Solas, as he always is when the mysterious spirit visits his dreams. _But Hawke knows him?_

_He works for the Inquisition?_

"He... he hasn't let me remember him, in my waking hours, by some magic," Fenris says slowly, still struggling to keep up with all the changes and revelations of the past few minutes. "He's- a friend, of sorts. It's very hard to explain. I always thought he was a spirit."

"I thought he was a demon, when I first met him," Hawke says darkly. "He would not allow me to remember him either. Not until a few days ago."

"You met him before Skyhold?" Fenris asks, frowning. "When?"

"Not too long after we killed Danarius," Hawke says. "Only he wasn't an elf, then. He came to me in my dreams as a-"

"-Wolf," Fenris finishes, remembering his own encounters. "An enormous wolf, with bloodstained teeth."

"He told me he would be gone a while, and that- that I needed to keep you safe," Hawke says, some of that anger fading into regret as he looks down at their entwined hands. "I failed."

"It wasn't your fault," Fenris says firmly. "Is that why you won't look at me, Hawke? I need you far more than I need your guilt."

Hawke flinches. "I... Maker, Fenris, I'm so sorry. You were nearly dead when Solas arrived, and we tried to save you, but we... couldn't."

Fenris's blood runs cold, both at the words and the way Hawke's grip on his hand tightens, recalling some kind of painful memory... and there's only one conclusion Fenris can draw from all this.

"What have you done to me?" Fenris says, his voice frigid. 

"You have to believe that I tried to stop him," Hawke says, looking up at last, his voice pleading. "Even if- Maker, Fenris, I couldn't- there are no words for what I felt, when you-"

"I died," Fenris says, horror and a mounting panic sharpening his words. He rips his hand away from Hawke's, his heart racing in his chest. "I died, didn't I? _What have you done?_ "

"I don't _know_ ," Hawke cries, a hand to his black hair, his eyes exhausted and a little wild. "I could not stop him, I wasn't strong enough. All I know is that you are _you,_  and you are alive, and as far as I can tell nothing of you has been corrupted."

"I am a product of necromancy, Hawke," Fenris snaps. " _Everything_  of me has been corrupted."

"I checked," Hawke says, desperately. "I've been checking, nearly every hour I've been by your side. There is no taint, no demon, nothing that explains how he brought you back. And I'm- Maker, I'm of two minds as to whether I'm even angry that he did what he did."

Fenris stares at him, feeling almost numb with disbelief. _Fear_.

"You're alive," Hawke continues, begging Fenris to listen, to _understand_. "I hate- I _hate_  that I was not able to protect you. I hate that this was done without your consent, after all you have suffered. I would have died to keep this from happening to you. But what has been done has been done, and if you hate me for failing to stop it, or for being remotely glad of it, I understand. But I cannot hate that you are alive, no matter the cost."

Fenris looks away, clenching his fists. He does understand, though he does not want to. He's too horrified by the implications of his resurrection, what he _is_ , to begin to decide how he feels about Hawke.

"Is there anything else?" Fenris says dully, eyes fixed on the Orlesian bedspread. 

"Solas... is still here," Hawke says slowly. "He wants to speak with you. He would not tell me how he did what he did, or what his interest in you is, but- I do not trust him, Fenris. I trust only that he wants you alive, but beyond that, I have no idea what his intentions are."

Fenris remembers nights when his life was not at stake, but the Wolf appeared in his dreams regardless, ready to offer comfort and counsel. _It is more complex than that._

But this... it would almost make sense, if Solas were a spirit, a demon. A spirit would not understand how _wrong_  this is. But it sounds as if Solas is neither, and some part of Fenris feels deceived. _A trick, then. Nothing more than a mage's lies._

"I will speak to him, then," Fenris says shortly, flexing his hands. _Speak, or otherwise._

"There's something else," Hawke says.

Fenris cuts a glance at him as Hawke lifts a mirror from the bedside table, offering it to Fenris. 

"When he brought you back, he said you would be... better than you were," Hawke says, and Fenris is relieved to hear anger in Hawke's voice at this, rather than relief or acceptance. "I don't know what he meant, but- you look... different."

Fenris's head snaps up, a snarl on his lips as he says, "Different _how?_ "

Hawke doesn't seem to have an answer for this, only holds the mirror out for Fenris, who snatches it from him with a growl, and brings it up to look at his reflection before he loses his nerve.

He looks at his reflection for a very long time.

-

Fenris turns back three times before finally climbing the stairs up to the battlements. 

He notes the way people part for him as he walks, the stares and whispers. He can feel prods of magic sliding his way as mages check for themselves that he's a living, breathing thing, and not some kind of thrall or spirit. 

As an elf marked with lyrium, he is no stranger to stares. He knows that's not why they're staring now. 

The battlements are nearly empty, save a few reluctant guards at either end, clearly uneasy in their position. A lone elf stands in the middle, staring out over the Orlesian wilds, hands clasped behind his back.

Fenris almost doesn't recognize him - the bald head, the pale skin, the drab clothing. In the Fade, Solas's elven form reflected the ferocity of the Wolf, command and power in the set of his shoulders, his severe expression, his loc'd hair pulled back and set with a skull. There's something familiar in the shape of his face, but beyond that, he looks like a perfectly normal elf.

_Another trick?_

"Fenris," Solas says quietly, as Fenris approaches. He turns, and looks Fenris over appraisingly. "You look well."

"I look like a statue," Fenris snaps, his temper barely held in check. A large part of him wants to throw this mage over the battlements, and he's not entirely sure what's stopping him from doing so. "I look as though I've been carved from marble. I do not look _real_."

"In time, you might learn to disguise that, as I have done," Solas says, seeming utterly calm in the face of Fenris's rage. "I cannot say how this change will affect your abilities. It will be interesting to see how they develop."

Fenris feels cold, at these words. _Interesting. Abilities._  Another mage with his experiments, using him. Pretending to care for him.

"I thought you were my friend," he says, before he can hold back the words- stupid, childish. He should have _known_.

Solas sighs, and there is regret in his eyes, and some great depth of sadness. "Fenris-"

"You liked the name," Fenris says, stepping back, disgust colouring his tone. "You said so, when we met. The name my _master_  gave me. Do you expect me to serve _you_ , now?"

"You do not understand-"

"No, I _do not_ ," Fenris snarls. "I do not know if I _want_  to. This whole time, you have been nothing more than another mage seeking to- to _use_  me. For _what?_ "

"I demand nothing of you, Fenris," Solas says, raising his hands placatingly. Fenris is far from soothed. "I ask nothing. I have only ever wanted to see you safe - and yes, I wanted to be your friend. To help you. That is all."

" _Why?_ " Fenris clenches his fists, feeling the lyrium flare in his skin as he struggles to control his anger. _It doesn't hurt. It always used to hurt, at least a little._  "Why have you been haunting my dreams? _Why wouldn't you let me die?_ "

"I couldn't," Solas says simply. "Any more than any father could allow their son to die."

Fenris stares at him, jaw slack. Solas, the picture of serenity, watches him in quiet contemplation.

Without another word, Fenris calls upon the lyrium, and plunges his hand into Solas's chest.

-

It's not an unexpected reaction. Unpleasant, certainly, and decidedly odd, feeling someone's fist in one's ribcage, but not unexpected.

Before Fenris can snatch his heart and rematerialize, Solas slips into his Elvhen form and pulls Fenris's hand from his chest, pushing him off-balance and shoving him hard down onto the cobblestones, pinning him to the stone by his throat. 

Fenris snarls, and fights to free himself, and Solas waits patiently for him to stop. 

Finally Fenris lets his head fall back, defeated in this aspect, at least. His eyes are full of venom, however, as he glares up at Solas. "You are _not_  my father."

"In the strictest sense? Perhaps not," Solas says. "It is possible that I had a child before you, who was your father, or further back even than that. It is also possible that you are my direct child. Time moved very differently for me, where I was, for a very long time. But in spirit as well as blood, you _are_  my son. Part of you, I imagine, has always known this."

Fenris looks at Solas for a long moment, then closes his eyes. _Yes, he has always known._

"Let me up," Fenris says eventually.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"I cannot promise that I won't, but I cannot say that this is helping your cause much."

"Fair enough," Solas says, and releases Fenris's throat, offering him a hand up. Fenris ignores it and pushes himself up, and Solas lets his arm fall back to his side without offence.

Fenris starts to pace, a deep scowl on his face that once traced the grooves of lines set between his brows, now made smooth by his resurrection.

"So what is your true form, then?" Fenris asks, though the question is distracted, not truly reflecting his present thoughts. "The Wolf? This? The apostate?"

Solas slips back into his current form with a shrug. "The concept of a "true form" is a little limiting for someone like me. What you saw in the Fade, is who I was. In some ways, it is who I am. In others, the man you see before you is all I am."

"You speak in riddles," Fenris mutters irritably.

"Truth is often a riddle with different answers for each who seek it," Solas says, and Fenris snorts. 

A few more paces, and Fenris says, "You are a little young to be a father, are you not? Or a grandfather, or- _kaffas_ , whatever it is you seem to believe you are to me."

"I am far, far older than this form implies," Solas says. "As you are older than your current form implies."

Fenris pauses at that, stricken.

"You once asked me if I wished to be immortal," Fenris says.

"I did."

"I said _no._ "

"I do not know if you are," Solas admits, though this hardly seems to comfort Fenris, his face drawn up in severe lines of shock and anger. "The shape I wear is something I conjured myself, and is not truly immortal. That was lost with the fall of Elvhenan. My strength and longevity is driven by my spirit, and that can extend one's life for a long time. Centuries. But it is not immortality. All that remains of our immortal selves is our spirits, and ours do not pass easily."

"Who is "we?"" Fenris says, pausing his pacing to give Solas a hard look. "For years, you have avoided my questions, never providing an answer. I still do not know what you are-" he looks down at his hands, smooth with new youth, and grimaces, "-or what you have made me."

"What you are was always in your blood, Fenris," Solas says. "It lay dormant, either by the dilution of your blood or the circumstances you were raised in, but it was always there."

" _What_  was?"

"The blood of what some have called gods," Solas says. "Think, Fenris. Do you truly not know?"

"Do not speak to me as if I am stupid," Fenris snaps. "My life is not some trick question. _Who are you?_ "

Solas inclines his head, and says, "Some have called me Fen'Harel."

Solas cannot read Fenris's expression as he stares back at him, green eyes large with shock. 

Then, to Solas's surprise, he laughs.

It's more hysterics than mirth, Solas knows, as Fenris clutches at the battlements for support, his shoulders shaking with helpless laughter. He waits patiently for Fenris to calm himself. It takes some time.

"The _Dread Wolf_ ," Fenris gasps eventually, still choking on the occasional snicker. "You would have me believe that not _only_  are you my father, but that my father is the one who destroyed the world?"

Solas winces. "The truth is not nearly so simple, but you have seen it for yourself. You have seen what I am."

"I have seen _three versions_  of "you,"" Fenris says. "It is far more likely that you are some deluded spirit with no connection to me at all, never mind the Dalish pantheon."

"Likely, perhaps, but a great many unlikely things have been occurring of late," Solas says. "Fen'Harel was a name given to me by others, as Fenris was a name given to you. It seems our enemies know our true nature better than ourselves."

Fenris stills.

"Did- did Danarius know this?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Did Danarius think I was- I was some-"

"Some part of him knew you were different," Solas says, knowing the man's mind from having devoured his spirit in the Fade. "Stronger. I imagine it's part of why he hunted you for so long. But he did not know of me, and he did not know what you truly were. He learned."

Fenris frowns. "He learned?"

"I could not let what he did to you go unpunished," Solas says. "Surely you have heard how the Dread Wolf treats the souls of the wicked who stumble into his path."

For a moment, Solas can see a slight shiver overtake Fenris, a small indication of his understanding. He does believe what Solas is telling him, whether he wants to or not. He will have to face that eventually.

Fenris begins to pace again, scowling.

"You claim to be a god," Fenris says. "And you claim to be my father. Yet you _knew_  where I was, you knew-" he pauses and winces, doubtless thinking of the times when Solas came to comfort him after his master's abuses. "You knew what was being done to me. You did _nothing._ "

"Outside the Fade, I was weaker than you," Solas says, though of all his failings with Fenris, this is the hardest to defend. "Even now, I have not the strength I had before my long slumber. I would not have been able to help you, and I have carried that regret with me for many years."

"Did you _try?_ "

Solas breathes, and says, "No."

Fenris winces, turning away from Solas. He props his elbows up on the battlements, staring into the distance, his shoulders slumping. 

"Do you expect me to forgive you for that?" Fenris asks eventually, his voice very quiet.

"No," Solas says honestly, coming to stand at Fenris's side. Fenris glances at him with a scowl, but does not move away. "I don't expect you to understand, but... I did not know you existed until Danarius inscribed those markings into your flesh. It took several more visits for me to realize what you were - a child of my soul, as well as my blood. But you were - perhaps, still are - mortal. It was... painful to think I would outlive you. I wanted to keep my distance, for my own sake."

"If you were so prepared to watch me die, then why bring me back?" Fenris says bitterly.

"Because I was not prepared, as it turns out," Solas says, with a rueful smile. "Your death was much harder to bear than I'd anticipated. What I did was selfish, and I did it against your wishes, and against Hawke's demands, and I would do it again. I do not regret what I did."

Fenris hangs his head with a sigh, looking exhausted. "Hawke said he tried to stop you."

"He did," Solas says. "He didn't want to, not really, but he was concerned that I would turn you into the monstrosity that became of his mother, and he knew that you would not want to be returned to life by magical means."

"He was right," Fenris says shortly. "Whatever I am now, I am not what I was."

"Anymore than a moth is a caterpillar, and yet they are the same creature," Solas says. "You have always been the son of a true Elvhen. Before you died, you spoke to me in our language. That was the moment I knew I could revive you - more, that I knew I _had_  to. So little of who we were is left - our blood diluted, our heritage lost, our legacy in fragments and largely forgotten. I could not let you die. I did not _want_  to. Whether you believe me or no, I do care for you, a great deal. And whether you accept me as your father or not, you are my son. In many ways, you are all that I have left."

"I have a sister," Fenris says flatly.

"A half-sister only," Solas says. "And entirely unlike you. She is not my child. You are."

Fenris grinds his teeth at this, hands gripping the battlements.

"Does the Inquisitor know- _venhedis,_ I do not believe this for a moment, but does he know that you are Fen'Harel? That you _think_  you are Fen'Harel?"

"He does not," Solas says. "Very few know who I truly am. I plan to keep it that way, for now."

"And what if I were to tell him?" Fenris says, looking at Solas, a challenge in his emerald eyes. "I cannot think of a good reason why the Dread Wolf would be walking at the Inquisitor's side. You mentioned a great slumber- it cannot be coincidence that you have awakened now."

"It is not," Solas says. "By circumstance, I was forced to made a decision that destroyed the world and the people that I loved. In the wake of that decision, this world has grown monstrous. I have watched generations of my people flee into the forests, into the cities, to live as sub-rate peoples under humanity. I watched my own son grow up in chains, at the mercy of a man who would have been an _ant_  compared to what we once were. It is upon me to rectify that mistake, whatever the cost."

Fenris straightens slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Whatever the cost?"

"A wildfire destroys the old and sick forests, allowing a new one to sprout in its place," Solas says. "Everyone fears the end, not understanding the nature of change. This world was a mistake. I am bound by fate to fix it."

"Many thousands of people, _millions_  of people, happen to live in this "mistake,"" says Fenris dangerously. 

"There is sacrifice in every action," Solas says.

"A sacrifice is only a sacrifice if it is offered," Fenris says. "Otherwise it's murder."

"What would be saved, that could not be made better in another world?" Solas says. "Shall I preserve the Imperium, that perverts the gift of magic and delights in the pain of our descendants? Shall I preserve the falseness and corruption of Orlais, the bloody history of Ferelden? The merciless lust for power stains all these lands, Rivain, Antiva, Par Vollen, Seheron, Orzammar. This world is already falling apart - I simply wish to ensure that there is something better to rise from its ashes."

"One man cannot decide what is better," Fenris says. "I have met those who have thought that. I have seen the cost. I have seen their _regret_."

"I am more qualified than most," Solas says. "That is not a statement of pride, but of fact. And were it my choice, I would not be alone."

Fenris glowers. "Oh?"

"You are my heir, Fenris," Solas says softly. "A child of two worlds, as it were. We may not agree, but I know that your mind is strong, as well as your heart. I do not wish to make the same mistakes twice. I would value your counsel."

Fenris stiffens, and says, "You want me to _help_ you destroy the world?"

"I want you to help me save it," Solas says. "I trust your judgment. I sealed the Evanuris away to protect this world from their deception and lust for power, and in doing so, caused the suffering of many. There are no easy solutions, but you have shown time and time again that you are not afraid of making difficult decisions. I cannot ask it of you, but I do want you by my side. If nothing else, so that I can keep you safe when the end comes."

Fenris steps back, his lips set in a firm line. "You are mad."

"You know that I am not."

"I will not let you do this," Fenris says, shaking his head. "I will tell the Inquisition-"

"That I am Fen'Harel?" Solas says. "Will you leave out your ties to me? You have seen how humanity behaves around what it does not understand. Already the humans here are curious about you. There have been whispers of imprisoning you, examining you. Tevinter speaks your name with fear, and hatred, for what you have done to their slavers. The Dalish may hunt you or worship you. The slaves of the Imperium would likely want to rally under the name of my son - in fact, many have already thought of doing so, under your name alone. My enemies - and believe me, I have many - would seek to use you against me. You would never have a moment's peace, and you would never be safe. Neither would Hawke."

Fenris surges forward in a flash of lyrium, teeth bared. "You _will not_  threaten Hawke."

"I mean him no harm," Solas says coolly. "As far as I have seen, he has been steadfast in his promise to me, to protect you in my absence. But I can promise that should you foolishly try to bring my identity to light, and yours, he will suffer for it. As will you."

For a moment, it seems as though Fenris is considering attempting to rip Solas's heart from his chest again. Then, with a helpless snarl, he turns away from Solas to face the battlements once more. 

They are quiet for a time, Fenris glaring out over the fields and forests beneath them, Solas watching him. It is still somewhat of a shock to see Fenris like this, a near-perfect image of what the Elvhen used to be. It's dangerous, how obvious and striking he is now. One look at his ageless eyes would be enough to cause any backwards wood-elf to start calling for their Keeper. To Solas, however, it all serves as further confirmation that this child is _his._  

It feels like a second chance. 

He knows, for all Fenris's understandable anger, and hurt, he does not hate Solas. He doesn't see indifference or loathing in Fenris's eyes - confusion, mostly. It's a start. 

"I will not inform the Inquisition," Fenris says eventually, interrupting Solas's thoughts. "For now. You... helped me, even if I did not remember it outside of my dreams. I cannot forget that. As for the rest... I will need time to think."

"I understand," Solas says, relieved despite himself. "As you are now, it will be far easier for me to speak to you in the Fade, tied by blood as we are. Should you have any questions, you need only ask, and I will answer as soon and as well as I can."

Fenris nods, but he doesn't really seem to be listening, his eyes very far away. _Doubtless his mind is somewhat crowded at present._

"I must return to Skyhold, to let the Inquisitor know you are well," Solas says. "He will be glad to hear it- he is... quite the fan. You should leave as soon as you and Hawke can gather your things. I do not trust that the Orlesian's restraint will last long after I depart, and Hawke's reputation here only goes so far."

Fenris nods again.

Solas... wants to put his hand on Fenris's shoulder. Embrace him. Feel his son in his arms once more, before they are separated again. 

Instead, he says, "Be well, Fenris," and turns to leave.

"Solas."

Solas pauses, looking back over his shoulder. Fenris hasn't moved.

"I may not be immortal, but... will Garrett-"

Fenris stops, and hangs his head.

"Garrett Hawke is a great man, but as far as I know, he is a mortal one," Solas says softly. "He will continue to age, at the same pace, within the years afforded to him by his nature. You will not."

Fenris looks away, but not before Solas sees his face crumple in pain. 

"I do not say this to be cruel, or to hold his life as ransom for your aid," Solas continues. "I make no promises. But... I only ask you to think on the possibilities of a newer world. A great many things could be different."

Fenris does not respond, and Solas knows it is time to leave. 

With one last look at his son, Solas sets his eyes on the ramparts before him and walks away.

-

It's quiet, when Fenris returns to his room. Hawke is asleep again, only this time, he's taken the bed.

Fenris sits in Hawke's vacated chair, his eyes taking in every detail of Hawke he can see, drinking him in like a man left to die of thirst in some faraway desert. He noticed, not so long ago, a few grey hairs sneaking into Hawke's beard, the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced.

His own lines were not from laughter. Not initially. But after a life with Hawke, they might have turned that way. Fenris will never know, now.

Hawke stirs, and opens his eyes, his breath catching as his sight falls on Fenris, who winces and looks away.

"I'm sorry," Hawke says quickly, sitting up. "I-"

"It's not your fault," Fenris says dully. "I know I am... different. Or- _venhedis,_ Maker, I was never what I thought I was. What you thought I was."

"What did Solas say?" Hawke asks sharply. "I wouldn't believe a word of it, Fenris-"

"I wish I could be so certain," Fenris says softly. "But I fear... I fear he was speaking truthfully."

To his own shock, as well as Hawke's, no doubt, he feels tears beginning to cloud his vision. He pushes his palms into his eyes with a frustrated snarl, willing them to stop, but all he can think of are those little grey hairs...

Two large hands close about his wrists, gently easing his hands from his face, and Hawke is there; there, and looking at him, almost as if nothing has changed and Fenris's world hasn't been entirely swept out from under his feet. 

His kiss is soft, barely brushing Fenris's lips, before he wraps his arms around Fenris and pulls him close against his chest, guiding them both back onto the bed until Fenris is curled up against him, his head tucked under Hawke's chin.

_Where he can feel the pounding of Hawke's heart like a clock's tick, counting down, marching forward relentlessly at a pace Fenris can no longer match..._

"Can you tell me any of it?" Hawke asks quietly - a question, not a demand. 

Fenris turns his face, tangling his legs with Hawke's and biting his lip against a shuddering sigh that is far too close to a sob as Hawke starts to stroke his back, the way one might do to soothe a weeping child.

"Some of it," Fenris whispers, closing his eyes. "But not today. Soon."

It occurs to Fenris that "soon" means something very different now, than it did a few days ago. He balls his fist in the cotton of Hawke's shirt and clenches his teeth against these thoughts, focusing only on Hawke's arms around him, Hawke's hand on his back, the steady rise and fall of his breath and the beat, beat, beat of a heart that Fenris cannot live without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. There's an epilogue after this, and that will conclude this instalment of Child, the Darkness Will Rise. A few notes for this chapter specifically:
> 
> \- Concept design Solas is love, concept design Solas is life. If you haven't seen it, look it up. I kind of understand why they went with Egg!Solas instead (hard to blend in when you *look* like an ancient god come to life) (did they have to make him super pasty though) (imho no they did not) but concept design Solas is my headcanon Fen'Harel of old, and also looks far more like a candidate for Fenris's genetic dad.
> 
> \- If you want to punch yourself in the face with feelings, listen to the song "Who Wants to Live Forever" by Queen while reading the last part. It was stuck in my head. I teared up.
> 
> \- Tumblr user leliaanaa came up with an AMAZING theory about DA4 incorporating what I'm dubbing the Wolf Family Theory (unless someone comes up with something better) with freakin RAGNAROK. It's super well thought-out and fantastic and she mentioned Child, the Darkness Will Rise in it and basically if you like this shit you should check it ouuutttt here: http://leliaanaa.tumblr.com/post/142895460740/da4-ragnar%C3%B6k
> 
> As always, I thrive off kudos and comments. If you want to discuss Wolf Family or literally anything else about my fics or Dragon Age or idk whatever you'd like really, I'm on the damn blue website under foxnonny.tumblr.com. Due to my job and my honestly somewhat laughable brain capacity I don't always reply, so if I miss a message it is never because I am ignoring you!! I seriously love everyone who's taken the time to come chat with me, and I love you all for reading this. Thank you, thank you!


	5. Epilogue

There is a small cottage on a grassy knoll, wildflowers springing up in patches over the rolling hills fading off into an indistinct distance. The sky is a dusky blue, pink and purple clouds providing accents of brilliant colour, and the air is sweet and clean. 

Solas sits with a book, an ancient tome with tiny runic lettering, vast amounts of knowledge trapped between crumbling pages. It's fascinating, and so very rare, to _learn_  a subject that is utterly new.

" _Babae!_ "

Solas lifts his head, smiling as a small elf child - no more than five, or six - rounds the side of the cottage, something cupped in his small hands. His green eyes shine bright with excitement as he hurries to close the distance between them, thick black hair tousled by the wind and his own adventures falling about his ears.

" _Babae, ith'ahn ar unvena!_ " the child exclaims, coming to a halt in front of Solas and holding out his hands.

" _Lasa em ithan, da'len,_ " Solas murmurs, taking the child's dark hands into his own.

In the child's palms squirms a white caterpillar, little more than a grub. Solas meets the child's eyes again; large, and hopeful, as if he's found a chest of gold rather than a garden pest. 

" _Ra's ina'lan'ehn,_ " Solas says gravely, and the child beams. " _I inana, mir'lin..._ "

Solas passes his hand over the child's palms, and in an instant the caterpillar springs from his hands, unfurling beautiful silver-white wings. The child stares, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as the new moth flutters once, twice, and then takes flight in earnest, a flash of silver disappearing into the evening sky.

" _On'ala, babae!_ " the child says, clapping his hands in delight. " _Elanan ar mah?_ "

Solas smiles, a slight ruefulness tugging at the corners of his mouth. " _Elanas sastrahn. Ane on'ala, Fen'len._ "

He opens his arms, and the child climbs into his lap, flinging his small arms around Solas's neck as Solas hugs him close. 

" _Mala hamin, da'len,_ " Solas murmurs. " _Ame amahn._ "

The child settles in his lap, leaning into Solas's chest, green eyes drifting closed until he's sleeping peacefully in Solas's arms.

Solas watches him for a long moment, reaching up to tuck a wild lock of black hair behind a pointed ear. Then, aloud, he says, "Is this the balm Compassion drives you to offer me, then?"

Cole steps out from behind Solas's chair, peering curiously at the child sleeping in Solas's arms. 

"It's been an eternity since this was mine, and I could have made this right from the start," Cole says, tilting his head. "He would have been put to work younger than this. He would have already felt his master's whip. I wonder if it isn't better that he hates me, and yet he doesn't. How is it that he doesn't?"

"It's useful that he doesn't," Solas says softly. The child in his arms frowns, and presses closer, small hands clutching at the fabric of Solas's shirt. "But he doesn't trust me."

"I need him to trust me."

"Yes."

Cole reaches out to touch the child's hair, and Solas lets him. He does not fear Cole, any more than one might fear the promise of rest at the end of a very long day. 

"I want to protect him, but I know what must be done," Cole murmurs. "Even now I wonder how this changes things, how I can use him."

Solas winces. He wants to protest, but he knows there's no point. He's far too old to be so foolish as to deny the truth. 

"I didn't tell him my plans, entirely. I know he can be swayed, but not if he learns the wrong things. Should I have let him go?"

"Should I have?" Solas asks, looking up.

Cole glances at him, then away, chewing his lip. "It's so very dark. Lonely. It will only get darker, lonelier. You won't let me help you."

"You're helping me now," Solas says.

Cole shakes his head. "I cannot lance the wound. I cannot unmake the past. But neither can _you_."

"I can try," Solas says, looking back down at the child. _His child. His son._  "For him."

"No," Cole says. "For you."

Solas cradles his child closer, and presses his lips to the top of his son's head. "I cannot accept that."

Cole is no longer listening, lost in Solas's thoughts. "Not just my blood, but my spirit as well. He has the Wolf in him. He could be my greatest friend, or my greatest enemy. I must be careful. I must be vigilant. I must know that he only learns what will shape his mind to my cause..."

Solas is gone before Cole finishes speaking, an enormous wolf galloping off into the rolling hills of the Fade, a small white cub racing along at his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are lucky I couldn't sleep. Meant that not only did I decide to finish the damn thing, but I was hit with sudden inspiration for where to take the story in the next instalment, which I definitely didn't have before. So this Wolf Family shenanigans is gonna continue, which - hooray but also if you're anticipating anything less than pain I've got bad news for you. 
> 
> Thank you so so so much for your interest in this headcanon, and for all your kind words and encouragement. I know I keep saying it but I literally wouldn't be writing this without you all, and I'm just so incredibly grateful that there are people out there willing to read my stuff. I love writing it, and I love you all, and I love these dumb characters and their bullshit. 
> 
> Finally, if you want, a translation of the conversation between Solas and Fade-Fen below. I used an amalgamation of the wiki, the translator, and what sounded right to slap it together.
> 
> "Babae! Babae, ith'ahn ar unvena!" = Father, father, look at what I found.
> 
> "Lasa em ithan, da'len. Ra's ina'lan'ehn. I inana, mir'lin..." = Let me see, child. It's beautiful. And look, my blood.
> 
> "On'ala, babae! Elanan ar mah?" = Amazing, father. Can I do that?
> 
> "Elanas sastrahn. Ane on'ala, Fen'len. Mala hamin, da'len. Ame amahn." = You can do anything. You're amazing, Wolf-child. Now rest, child. I'm here.


End file.
